


Apple Tart

by SparksOfDesire



Series: Desires of the Flesh [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Apples, Cheeky Aziraphale (Good Omens), Clothed Sex, Crowley is so in love, Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Crowley's serpent form, Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Experienced Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hand Jobs, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Inexperienced Crowley (Good Omens), Insecurity, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Praise Kink, Porn with Feelings, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Talks about Eden, Virgin Crowley (Good Omens), Vulnerability, terms of endearment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 09:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19809247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparksOfDesire/pseuds/SparksOfDesire
Summary: On the seventh day after the world didn't end, an angel who desires a demon and a demon who fell in love with an angel stroll home after a dinner at the Ritz...**The angel traced the closed seam of the demon’s lips, until said demon shily parted them to let himself be overwhelmed by the angel’s taste- sweet and tangy, like apple tarte, like Heaven.





	Apple Tart

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist. I'm jumping onto the bandwagon that is Good Omens porn. These two ineffable idiots are irresistible.

On the seventh day after the world didn’t end, an angel and a demon found themselves strolling around the darkening streets of London, after having enjoyed a scrumptious dinner (Aziraphale) and a whole bottle of century-aged whiskey (Crowley) at the Ritz- their favorite restaurant (albeit for different reasons). While the angel enjoyed the baroque style of the inventory and the lush abundance of treats that could be savored there, the demon just liked the way the angel’s eyes lit up every time they sat down at the very same table by the window. He started to refer to it as “their” table in his mind, but he would be caught in a bath of holy water (literarily) before admitting to those kind of thoughts.

The air was crisp and the almost end of all the things about earth they so desperately adored was still fresh in their minds, so both otherworldly entities chose to take the long way home. ‘Home’ itself being a combination of their living spaces, that slowly but surely started to converge into spaces they both visibly inhabited. These days, there were potted plants standing (and quietly shivering) all around Aziraphale’s bookshop and books scattered around everywhere around Crowley’s flat. For two beings that had resided in this world for several millennia and never made a move to, well, _move in_ this direction, the changes of the past week had been tremendous for both angel and demon. But, given the circumstances that the apocalypse was avoided, and their representative sides didn’t have any momentum to bother them for at least another six millennia, perhaps Aziraphale and Crowley had grown a bit more daring during the first week being officially on ‘their own side’.

As far as Crowley was concerned, they had been on their own side for a very very long time, but that was completely besides the point.

They were trotting and chatting- falling silent from time to time to cherish the things they almost lost (above all, as far as Crowley was concerned, each other’s company); their hands dangling so close to one another that they could have touched, if they had wanted to. Crowley’s throat tightened at this notion, trying not to stare at said hands; while Aziraphale carried on oblivious to his companion’s inner turmoil- happily explaining to Crowley the merits of this little 24-hour-bakery to with the angel had vanished ten minutes ago to get a dessert. Said dessert was now tightly wrapped and secure in the angel’s other hand; Crowley didn’t even bother to ask what it was, the angel would tell him if only he’d let him talk about the bakery long enough (not that the demon cared about the details- all he cared about that it seemed to make Aziraphale happy).

“Which one will it be tonight, my dear?” The demon’s heart- that he kept purely as an accessory (it had started out as a necessity to disguise his true nature from clever humans and he had taken quite a liking to this thrumming beat in his chest)- made a happy little jump at the intimate address. You would think that spending several thousand years with the angel would prepare him for these random acts of sweetness- but here he was; fighting a smile for being called a ‘dear’ by the angel he had been cripplingly in love with since the Garden of Eden. How bizarre- a demon who not only was able to feel love but _yearn_ for it in the most _human_ kind of way. How bizarre and kind of pathetic.

Aziraphale wasn’t in love with him, Crowley just knew.

Aziraphale loved him, sure, in that angelic all-encompassing kind of way in which Aziraphale showered every single one of Her creations with affection; he might even _like_ him as his best friend. But being in love? With him- a fallen angel, the vicious serpent- of all beings? Ridiculous. Ridiculous and impossible.

Around the 1970s, Crowley started to believe that this might be Her complex way of torturing him for deceiving Her. To give him a metaphorical heart to love and make him give it away to the only entity on the whole planet he would never be able to have.

It was-

“Crowley, are you quite alright? You’ve never answered my question.”

\- the sweetest punishment.

The demon shook his head to free his mind and aimed for one of his usual playful sneers. It didn’t achieve the intended effect; he wasn’t fooling either of them.

Ever since the world didn’t end, something deep within him had changed- maybe it was the close bonds to Hell finally weakening and perhaps loosing their pull altogether- but ever since that day it had been having trouble to control his emotions. More specifically, to guard his adoration and desire towards the angel from said angel. While Aziraphale was exceptionally at sensing positive emotions, like all angels ought to be, Crowley as a demon was exceptional at hiding positive emotions that might be radiating off of him (against all odds). But ever since that evening, when they returned to their own bodies and had dined at the Ritz much like today, Crowley found it harder and harder to not let accidentally glimpses shine through the wall he had built around himself. He hadn’t taken his sunglasses off in front of Aziraphale all week, in fear that one look at his eyes would give him away completely and endanger the most precious bond in his whole existence.

“My flat?” he answered, willing his voice to sound casual instead of raw and open like he felt. “I’m up for a nap tonight,” he hurried to explain, because the real reason would have been too telling to disclose. It was safer to indicate he wanted to return to a space with a bed, then confessing to Aziraphale that- since they had resided in the bookshop the past two days- he had found that upon returning to his flat alone, the space didn’t smell so much of Aziraphale as it had before and he really, really wanted it to smell like his angel.

He was damn lucky Aziraphale couldn’t read minds (or more accurately, was too polite to do so).

“Of course, my dear. These few days were quite taxing, weren’t they? On the seventh day one shall rest, as it is written.”

Crowley nodded so he wouldn’t have to speak, because he was afraid that upon opening his mouth, he wouldn’t been able to keep the words of adoration daring to overspill to himself.

**

The cold place was cozier just for the sake of Aziraphale being there (even the plants adored him- something Crowley tried to discourage but couldn’t blame them for in secret). There was a warm glow radiating off of the angel, filling up each and every space he entered.

They were seated in Crowley’s armchairs (which, he was pretty sure, hadn’t been there a week ago) in front of his fireplace (that also hadn’t been there a week ago). Crowley held his tongue from pointing out the small ‘improvements’ Aziraphale started to make to his flat, because it indicated that Aziraphale started to make himself feel at home there, which made Crowley’s traitorous heart beat in his throat.

Aziraphale had insisted on tea and Crowley had insisted on rum in his cup.

This is how they found themselves in half-hearted discussion about ducks (or more specifically, Crowley’s peculiar fascination with them), when the angel remembered his impulse purchase sitting patiently on the marble table nearby.

“Oh, silly me! I almost forgot dessert!”

Any other demon (or a certain archangel with an air of douchebaggery around him) might have taken the chance to cruelly point out to the angel that he was indulging himself quite a bit, and perhaps to remember that gluttony was considered a sin.

But Crowley, truth be told, just liked that Aziraphale enjoyed so many things, and was happy to witness his angel being happy. (Oh, he had it bad for Aziraphale- _so bad_ ).

So, he just watched how Aziraphale unwrapped his treat with the unabashed glee he had for all things concerning food.

What Crowley wasn’t prepared for, however, was the nature of said treat- at which he stared with furrowed brows once it had been unwrapped. Aziraphale, unaware as always of Crowley’s discomfort, vanished to Crowley’s kitchen (which, by the way, also hadn’t been there a week ago) in order to get some whipped cream out of Crowley’s fridge. Whipped cream was one of the rare food items that Crowley kept for his own enjoyment; something about the texture reminded him of eating a cloud and that mental image gave him immense satisfaction. Naturally, it was one of the few things he always had in stock.

“Angel?” he asked, his voice carefully even.

“Yes?” Came the cheery reply from the kitchen.

“What the Hell do you think you’re doing with _this_?”

Apple tart.

Of all the bloody tarts in the world.

It had to be apple tart.

Crowley didn’t know angels were even _allowed_ to eat apple tart. Not after his single most advanced temptation, at least. He had firmly believed that apples were a no-go for Her obedient servants, if only out of rivalry’s sake. But then again, Aziraphale wasn’t much of an obedient servant to begin with.

Still, Crowley watched with something akin to horror as this son of a gun of an angel piled whipped cream on top of the most symbolically laden fruit of the whole Bible.

“Why, it’s my favorite! Tangy, yet sweet and the flaky crust- oh _Crowley_ , it is possibly _divine_ -“

“I thought apples were the forbidden fruit, fruit of sin and all that!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, a fruit’s a fruit. It was a metaphor. A lot of things in Her creation are.”

“And She seriously thinks that anyone would get that?”

“They obviously do, because nobody is freaking out at the sight of an apple besides you, my friend.”

At that, Crowley shut his mouth with a click (mainly because the ‘friend’ part made him uncomfortably aware of his devastating crush situation) and proceeded to just stare as the first bite was taken. The irony of it all- that the serpent of Eden would come to accompany the keeper of the East Gate eating apple pie. If _that_ was part of Her ineffable plan, Crowley was pretty sure She was just taking the piss at this point.

“Do you want some?”

Oh, _come on now_. Clearly, Aziraphale was messing with him now. And to Crowley’s own embarrassment, he realized that this nefarious side of the angel made him only fall in love with him even more. Embarrassment was one of the less pleasant emotions he had accumulated during his time on earth. It definitely ranked very low in his top ten of human emotions, mainly because it left an unpleasant aftertaste. And it made Crowley’s corporal form react accordingly, which the demon didn’t approve at all. So, he turned his head so Aziraphale wouldn’t see that he was sporting quite the blush now.

“Are you seriously asking me this? Are _you_ trying to tempt _me_ to a bite from your apple, angel? (And now wasn’t _that_ an image that awoke the demon’s libido?) That has to be blasphemous.”

“Shush, you, don’t overdramatize it. It’s just a tarte,” the angel chided, although he then placed his plate on the table, as if chastised (But the expression on his face made it quite clear that this opportunity of indulgence wouldn’t be wasted away, just postponed).

Silence fell upon them and Crowley felt as if he was somehow responsible for tipping the mood. He tended to talk to much- talked all the time, really- and sometimes he talked until the room went quiet and there was nothing else to say. It were these moments when it was the hardest to contain all these emotions that he had- he was eager to lighten the mood again, eager to see his angel smile again- eager to _please_ Aziraphale in whatever way he could.

Demons didn’t please. They tempted. They awoke desire. They didn’t _tend_ _to_ desire. They didn’t _have_ desire. But then again, Crowley wasn’t a very good demon to begin with.

This desire manifested in restlessness- shaking hands and bouncing legs and moving his head around _way_ too much. And Aziraphale was right there- a warm, gentle presence near him, now inspecting the book on Crowley’s coffee table (a rare short story collection by one of Aziraphale’s favorite modernist writers, because Crowley was as subtle as a brick wall when it came to random acts of kindness for his angel) with a soft twinkle in his blue eyes- and Crowley shouldn’t even notice these things but he _did_. And if he was to lean forward in his chair only the slightest bit, he would catch a whiff of that scent radiation off of his angel that had driven him nuts for 6.000 years. Aziraphale had picked up the book and flipped it open at a random page, quietly laughing to himself about something he had just read- and that _sound_ , more than anything else, did it for Crowley.

He stood abruptly, stiffly announcing his departure to bed.

The angel nodded a bit dumbfoundedly at the sudden change of events, but bid him a good night, nevertheless.

**

It had been two hours since he had made himself rare, but the blissful numbness of sleep hadn’t washed over him yet. In fact, he was more awake then ever- tossing and turning in his lush satin sheets and listening irritated to his unsteady breathing (he didn’t even _need_ to breathe, for crying out loud!). For modesty’s sake (what a silly concept, modesty, but it seemed like it had gotten under his skin after all these years among humans, after all) he had thrown on some sleep clothes, which were rubbing against his oversensitive skin- making the fine hairs on his arms stand up. Everything was too much and not enough at all- and by far the worst inconvenience was that he was still sporting a half-hard errection just from imagining taking a bite from of the angel’s blasted apple, whatever _that_ means.

Just as he considered getting up again (and maybe look into this ‘Paradise Lost’ book he had nicked from the bookshop last week, it had cheered him up ever since and would help to take his mind of-ahem- _pressing_ matters), there was a light knock on his bedroom door.

“Crowley, are you awake?”

The demon’s heartbeat picked up a notch or two, but he forced his voice to sound gruff from sleep. “Come in, angel.”

Too late, it occurred to him that through inviting Aziraphale into this space, he had placed himself into the more vulnerable position between the two of them. He cursed silently, wishing he had just gone outside. Or at least wrapped himself in a dressing gown that somehow resembled his usual attire- laying there in front of Aziraphale (who had never seen him without a suit) in a soft cotton t-shirt and boxer shorts made him feel vulnerable enough to bury himself deep in the covers and pray (ha) that Aziraphale wouldn’t look at him. Even his hair was in disarray from all the tossing and turning, and the disheveled state of his appearance made this moment feel so much more intimate than it probably was (Aziraphale just wanted to announce his departure, probably, since Crowley now realized sitting around waiting for him to wake up again must be terribly boring for his angel). At the last moment, he reached for his sunglasses and put them back into place.

This circumstance promptly earned him a raised eyebrow as soon as Aziraphale’s eyes landed on him. As he stood in the doorway, his form illuminated by the fire in the fireplace- making him glow in all his otherworldly beauty, from the white curls to the tips of the shoes that he wore for 200 years now- Crowley’s breath hitched. His traitorous cock stirred at the visual.

“I can’t help but wonder if I’ve upset you earlier. With the whole apple business. You left so sudden after I brought it up. I feel bad for making you uncomfortable.”

 _I was upset, because you called me your ‘friend’ instead of your ‘dear’._ “S’alright. You were just teasing. No foul, no harm.”

Some of the tension in the angel’s posture visibly relaxed. “Oh, good. I was really worried for a second, dearheart.” Crowley choose to not investigate further why the aspect of him being upset would worry Aziraphale enough to disturb his ‘sleep’- hope was a cruel mistress. (And, fuck, that just wasn’t _fair_ , how did Aziraphale keep coming up with these damn pet names that made Crowley weak in the knees?)

“Well then,” the angel then clasped his hands together. “I won’t disturb your rest any longer-“

“I didn’t sleep,” Crowley said, because he was an _idiot_ who couldn’t lie to Aziraphale if he tried.

“Ah,” followed by a thoughtful pause, “is something bothering you, after all?”

Crowley shrugged, feeling stupid for even having this conversation, while he was laying in bed, poorly hiding an errection _that should definitely learn to read a room, thank you very much_.

It only took Aziraphale a second to close the door and stand next to the bed.

“May I sit?” he asked gently, and Crowley nodded because apparently, he was a glutton for self-punishment now.

The bed tipped under the angel’s weight and Crowley really wanted to slap himself for this one. His hands were itching to just reach out- Aziraphale’s soft form mere inches from him- wanted to bury his face against one lovely thigh and stay buried there for the rest of eternity.

“Oh, these sheets are heavenly soft!” The angel exclaimed, running his fingers over them lovingly. Aziraphale tended to treat all things on earth lovingly. Crowley prayed to whatever deity that was willing to listen to him that the angel wouldn’t notice his arousal that just didn’t want to abide. The demon could _smell_ it wavering from underneath the sheets- a scent so primal and burning and present that there was no way in _Hell or Heaven_ Aziraphale didn’t notice it. Of all the times his corperation could have chosen to rebel against him….

Crowley stopped breathing for a minute when the angel accidentally brushed over his fingers in the process of patting the blanket. Instead of leaving it at that, Aziraphale must have noticed _something_ , because in the next moment, he wrapped Crowley’s cold hands in his warm palms. Crowley’s heart stopped completely as his brain short-circuited, unable to process anything other than the point of contact. He could only stare as his angel softly traced one knuckle after another.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You’ve been…different since the world didn’t end.”

“I’m….” _madly in love with you, you fool, and you just don’t see it and I don’t know how to say it._ “…it’s just a lot on my mind.”

“If you need to talk, you know you can always count to me. Our side, and all that.”

_Oh._

_Oh, sweet mother of someone, I’m back in Hell._

“Do you think about it a lot? Eden, I mean?”

It was enough to kickstart his heart and brain again. They tended to… not talk about the early days. Crowley, personally, did occasionally pretend that they hadn’t even existed. This world had been a confusing place, back in the day, confusing and utterly commanded by Her need to assess Her dominance over Her creatures. His fall was still fresh on his mind and was suffering from the disappointment of being made an abandoned child. He had been confused and hurting and angry- angry when Hell had sent him to Eden, angry at one of the guards, the guard from the Western Gate whom he had recognized as one of his close brothers from Heaven, who hadn’t spared a glance at him, had kicked his serpent body and sneered at him in an ancient tongue.

He had come to the Eastern Gate to rest, mainly because he hadn’t recognized the angel that held patrol there. And then something had happened that hadn’t happened since he had fallen- he was given a smile. Brief and nervous but genuine and there- a smile from an angel given to a demon.

And then he had fallen in love.

With an angel that was smart and witty and just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing.

“Bittersweet memories,” Crowley replied with a voice that strangely didn’t sound like himself at all.

“I suppose so,” the angel replied to his knuckles, smiling a little bit. “Although I quite liked your long hair,” he then said and Crowley wondered if that had been the thing why he had smiled to begin with (and in this moment made the decision to discreetly grow his hair the second Aziraphale was out of sight).

Crowley was a vain creature, as demons tented to be, and his hair was (pardon the irony) possibly sacred to him. For the angel to praise his tries to make his corporal form as appealing as possible felt like lying in the sun after a long and cold winter.

“Did you now? You never said.”

“I also never said I liked apples,” and there it was, that small laugh strangely sounding like music, right underneath these words.

“Deary me, you’ve really got quite the comfortable bed on your hands. Under this circumstances, I’m starting to see the appeal of resting on it.” If it was anyone else, Crowley would realize that they’d blatantly tried to invite themselves underneath his sheets. It was Aziraphale, though. Ironically, the only entity in the whole universe that _he_ would like to invite under his sheets.

“You could stay,” the demon suggested because he really, really, _really_ was an idiot. But the image of Aziraphale- his Aziraphale- on the bed right next to him was too tempting to resist. The sheets would smell like him for _days_. Part of him just wanted to drop the charade once and for all. Bigger part of him was so afraid of the inevitable rejection that would follow; so much so that he couldn’t even relish this moment.

But the bed dipped even further and then Aziraphale was right there; his knee mere inches away from Crowley’s still half-erect sex.

A glutton for self-punishment, indeed.

**

And this is how an angel and a demon found themselves lying on the bed, facing each other- the demon feigning sleep and the angel watching him.

“Tell me something else you’ve never told me,” Crowley suddenly requested into the darkness (surprising himself more than Aziraphale), tired of pretending after an hour lying stock-still. He was lulled into a sense of security by the angel’s close presence- of his breath so close and his warmth and his _smile_ \- so much so that his resolve slipped the tiniest bit and he didn’t immediately pull it back into place.

He could trust Aziraphale.

Right?

With his _everything_.

….Right?

Because Aziraphale was safe and home and everything that could be considered good in this world. Aziraphale was the best thing in this world. Aziraphale was the best thing in _any_ world, for Crowley. The fact that sometime an hour ago the angel had started humming ‘Somebody to love’ (which they had heard on their way back from a picknick two days ago, and which the angel had grown quite a liking to despite the fact that he still identified it as ‘bebop’) might play a role in this, too. Queen had always calmed Crowley.

“The way you walk puzzles me.”

Crowley laughed lightly- a beautiful sound in the quiet room- “That’s cheating, ‘Zira. I already knew that.” He pushed his hand playfully against the angel’s shoulder (the extend of their physical contact, even after 6.000 years of knowing each other) and then just left it there, to feel the fabric of the well-loved coat underneath his palm. Aziraphale liked to keep things. He had kept him, after all (something in Crowley’s stomach fluttered when he entertained the notion of being a something that Aziraphale would feel fond and possessive over).

Delighted of having humored the demon, Aziraphale pursed his lips, as if in deep thought.

“I don’t understand why you started to hide your eyes from me when we’re alone.”

The statement, albeit delivered with as much lightness as the previous one, hovered between them. Cackled, like sudden bounds of electricity. It was the moment Crowley realized he was doomed, because he hadn’t lied to his angel for six millennia and he sure as Hell wouldn’t start to now.

“I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen them before. And I find them… quite magnificent, that is.”

His fingers were lightly tracing the glasses’ temple stems, as if asking for permission to take them off. “I miss them,” he adds, barely above a whisper. Not much more than a breath and suddenly Crowley is hot all over with the realization just how _intimate_ this moment became. The hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder started to shake, but he didn’t want to cease this touch already- not when they’re this close and it’s all he had been desiring for such a long time.

His resolves weakened further, steadily, and he just wants to succumb to the fire burning inside of him- he just wants to _show_ Aziraphale- lay bare and open before him.

Before he can think better of it (or think anything at all, really) he has already miracled the sunglasses to his bedside table. He regretted the decision instantly when their eyes met, for Crowley physically felt all the emotions flowing out of him. He sucked in a sharp breath as his last wall _shattered_. All the love and adoration shining within him, no longer guarded by demonic efforts. All that he was, all that he would ever be. Forever a hopeless love-struck fool- a demon who had fallen in love with an angel.

Aziraphale’s hand was cupping his cheek, as if to keep him still to get a better look at his eyes. The quiet “Oh, my,” that reached his ears when blue met golden was the final straw in his loosing battle with his own desires.

Crowley brought their lips together in a gentle peck.

**

The moment Aziraphale’s mouth opened against his, Crowley started thinking again. Realization hit him like a fright train, and he separated them so quickly as if he had been burned by holy water.

“I….I…” he stuttered, frantically searching for a way to explain this mess he had just created, all the while already trying to cope with the thought of an eternity without Aziraphale by his side.

“I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry. I don’t-“

Aziraphale silenced him with another kiss.

Crowley was too stunned to do anything but let himself be kissed.

By an angel.

By _his_ angel.

Who was kissing _him_.

Because he _wanted_ to.

Clearly, the world was turning upside down.

“Since when?” the angel whispered against his wet lips.

“Eden,” Crowley answered in a sigh, unable to deny any of his emotions any longer. There was no point, really. Might as well give Aziraphale the full truth. “There’s never been anyone else. You’re _everything_ to me,” he panted raggedly- his voice raw and vulnerable and breaking in the middle. “Aziraphale, I love you so much.”

It was out before he was able to stop it- had blossomed out of his mouth like a rare flower, danced over his tongue like music. Now it was there, and it was real, and there would be _no turning back from this point_.

Time stopped.

Aziraphale paused to look at him. _Study_ him. Crowley turned his head in shame, unable to hold the angel’s steady gaze.

“I’ve been blind, Crowley. I… hadn’t realized for _so long_. I’ve been cruel to you-“

“Don’t. It’s not like it’s… something one would expect. It’s… I understand if you-“ And his heart sank upon realizing that now he had put his most precious secret out in the open- where it could be judged and prodded at. He wouldn’t stand to see pity in Aziraphale’s eyes. He would much rather combust.

“Since the church bombing,” Aziraphale confessed instead. “Maybe long before that, but at that night I _knew_.”

Crowley’s eyes shot up in wonder and tentative hope. Could it be? Could it even be _possible_? He was rewarded with the brightest smile. It was like the sun. Shining and blinding and good, so utterly and devastingly _good_ that it entered Crowley’s black soul and lit it up.

“I knew that I had fallen for you, my love. And the feeling has only grown ever since. You’re…all I want.”

The demon shivered- a full-body reaction so violently and delicious crawling up his spine that he could barely resist moaning at the sensation. He had, in the privacy of his mind, from time to time fantasized about this moment, about hearing Aziraphale say those words he desired with all of his heart. But now that it was happening, the sweetest overwhelming relief washed over him. Angel, _his_ angel…

“You have me, angel, I’m _yours_ , only yours for _eternity_ -“ his voice brimmed with wanton desire and over spilling joy and for once in his millennial-old existence on earth Crowley wasn’t afraid that Aziraphale would _see_. He laid bare and open and it was the most rewarding thing he had ever experienced- to be _loved_ like this, couldn’t compare to anything he had encountered in his existence before. Not heaven, not hell, nothing could hold against this sheer happiness his angel brought him.

He lounged forward for another kiss, no longer timid about seeming eager and excited- because he was eager and excited and hadn’t felt so good since She had brought him into existence.

“I’m sorry I never told you,” Aziraphale tried to continue between Crowley’s enthusiastic and sloppy kisses.

“Not now, angel,” the demon snarled against his lips. Aziraphale was baffled for a half a second, before his face broke into a wicked grin. Crowley let himself be pulled closer by strong arms, let himself be slotted against this familiar body, let himself be kissed like it meant the _world_.

Maybe it did.

For him it did.

Aziraphale kissed skillful, delicious, and all-consuming. Crowley had never kissed a soul, although he had tempted plenty a kiss back in his active duty years. The angel on the other hand seemed to be very experienced with this certain delight of the flesh. He traced the closed seam of the demon’s lips, until said demon shily parted them to let himself be overwhelmed by the angel’s taste- sweet and tangy, like apple tarte, like _Heaven_. Crowley whimpered low in his throat when the angel did something sinfully clever with his tongue, a touch that sent heat right towards the demon’s crotch. He was fully hard within seconds.

Maybe there were a lot of things Aziraphale hadn’t told him.

Against popular belief, Crowley had never had sexual relations of any kind, either. It started to look like Aziraphale had. Uncertainty and jealousy filled the demon’s heart, clouded the happiness that had been overbubbling there.

He broke the kiss and buried his nose into Aziraphale’s collar where his smell was strong and overpowering and breathed in, trying to return to the moment. But… he was overthinking this and….perhaps he really really really was a glutton for self-punishment.

“Did you love them?” he growled against the angel’s neck letting his fangs linger against the soft skin as if to mark his possession, aiming for threatening but coming out as whining instead.

“Not one,” his angel whispered. “You’re the only one I’ve ever loved this way, Crowley.”

Instead of a possessive gesture like sinking his fangs deep into the flesh, unexpected vulnerability and arousal shuddered through the demon’s body and he groaned hotly against his lover’s neck. His cock gave a violent jump and pre-come leaked out of the tip into the fabric of his boxer shorts. Aziraphale brought their mouths back together in a searing kiss.

The angel rocked against him ever so slightly, enough that the demon felt the hard proof of the angel’s desire poke him in the stomach. It was enough to make stars dance in front of Crowley’s eyes. Crowley was very familiar with pleasure and arousal but this- this felt different. Of course, he had had an orgasm before. On occasion, even enjoyed indulging in a bit of self-pleasure (though feeling immensely guilty for during it he would try and fail to not think about a certain angel). It was a good feeling- delicious even. But it was nothing compared to this. He hardened further against Aziraphale’s hip and indicated by the small moan his lover approved immensely of this turn of events.

The angel’s hands wandered over his body and left a trail of burning desire in their path. Aziraphale found his nipple through the cotton and began to circle it softly, a motion that caused Crowley to jerk forward and moan wantonly into his angel’s mouth. He felt the angel smirk against his lips and flushed hotly, suddenly immensely turned on by the fact that Aziraphale knew what he was doing to him. At this moment- hard and leaking and shattering apart- he was completely at his angel’s mercy and he _relished_ in it.

The whole experience was utterly surreal- but then again, most of the things concerning them were.

Demons didn’t fall in love with angels.

Angels didn’t desire demons in a sexual way.

When Aziraphale gently pinched the nipple he had been coaxing to hardness, Crowley was pretty sure he wouldn’t last through taking their clothes off. They hadn’t even gotten naked yet- but Crowley was too close to worry about his piss-poor performance of stamina now. He was right there, tethering on the brink, from a few kisses and skillful tugs on his nipples. All his pent-up desire coiled hot and white inside of him, steadily pushing towards the sweetest relief shared with the only entity he had ever loved and would ever love.

The air smelled like their mixed arousals, earthy and burning and intoxicating; otherworldly and yet so utterly _human_.

“Angel, please-“ he begged, although he didn’t even know what for; just begged and worshipped this angel, this moment, this incredible _feeling_ -

And then Aziraphale found the head of his cock and fondled it through the soaking fabric- traced the ridges and gently pressed the nail of his thumb into the slit, rubbing wet fabric against the sensitive opening.

Crowley made a sound that couldn’t be described as anything other than primal, low and long, shuddering as the skin around his pelvis turned scaly (his snake-features tended to become more pronounced whenever he lost control over his body). Aziraphale sucked in a sharp breath and looked down, following the deep black scales now covering half of Crowley’s thigh with hungry eyes.

“Crowley-“

“ _Yes_ , yes, anything, yes, Aziraphale, _please_ -“

The hand on his nipple wandered down, caressing the scales with such careful fondness that Crowley’s throat went unbelievably tight, almost constricting his airflow. He had a complicated relationship with the serpent part of his body and having it adored- almost cherished- was almost enough to push him over the edge. He held onto, only just barely, only by the desire to share this with his angel in the most bodily way possible.

With clumsy movements, he pushed the heel of his hand against Aziraphale’s clothed erection, fumbling shakily with the zipper to get his point across. Aziraphale made a sound that Crowley wouldn’t forget for as long as he existed. He rested his forehead against his lover’s shoulder, spurred on by the sweet noises now steadily leaving Aziraphale’s mouth, to watch himself slowly open these well-loved trousers to take his lover’s sex in hand. He panted for the unbelievable significance of this moment- panted and moaned when he tentatively reached inside and closed his fingers around hot flesh.

All finesse was terribly lost after that- both entities too occupied with the sensation of a lover’s hand wrapped around their shafts to even bother getting rid of any clothes except for roughly shoving their undergarments down a couple of inches- there was an urgency in their movements making it impossible to even stop for a second to get undressed (there would always be a later). Crowley watched, transfixed, as their hands worked in tandem to bring the other off- the space between their bodies wet and burning and filled with slick sounds, sinful delicious sounds. His rhythm faltered several times, his own pleasure becoming too overwhelming to even move a muscle, but the gasps of his name against his hair spurred him on. He watched the quiver in Aziraphale’s lush thighs, covered in light freckles that shone like stars- felt a clever thumb find his slit again, collecting the pre-come. It was too much.

“Aziraphale, I’m…I’m going to…”

And on of the angel’s hand was suddenly against his jaw, gently turning his face so he could have a better look, while the other speeded up its delicious ministrations on his erection. He hardened further in his lover’s hand, knowing his release was mere seconds away. His hand stuttered to a stop and the pleasure coiling deep inside him only coiled tighter when he realized that Aziraphale was now _fucking_ his hand.

“Look at me, dearest, oh, you’re the most _sinful_ thing I’ve ever seen. Just looking at you will make me-“

Crowley came.

“Fuck,” hissed the angel at the sight (and hearing his Aziraphale swear only prolonged the demon’s already spectacularly long orgasm by several seconds) and Crowley watched through half-lidded eyes as the angelic features contorted in pure ecstasy.

Unbeknownst to an angel and a demon who had just shared an orgasm, the put-out fire at the fireplace had roared to life again and all the plants had started to bloom.

**

Aziraphale lay securely wrapped around Crowley’s thin frame, enclosing his love in a cocoon of warmth. Crowley had been drifting in and out of sleep for the better part of an hour.

Realization suddenly struck the angel. “Oh, I never got to eat the rest of my dessert! Now here’s a naughty thought- let’s have it right here.”

The sleepy demon snorted but turned his head to tuck himself closer under his angel’s chin. He watched him with tired eyes, pupils still slightly dilated from previous events.

“After everything we just did, eating in bed is what you consider naughty? You’re something else, angel. You mischievous little thing, you.”

The angel had the audacity to grin at the comment.

“You haven’t seen half of it, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is not beta-read whatsoever, feel free to point out errors of any kind. This is part of a mainly self-indulgent series about an angel, a demon, and their kinky-soft lovemaking.
> 
> Comments, kudos, and bookmarks are very much appreciated. <3


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